The bathroom light flickered faintly as Raj leaned on the sink, staring at the boy in the mirror again.
Same dark hair. Same slant to his eyebrows. Same tired eyes that had spent most of their life reading under a blanket or watching superhero movies on a cracked phone.
But now… something shimmered.
Not just beneath his skin, but in his expression.
It was subtle. A stillness. A calm that didn't feel earned. As if some quiet part of him already knew how to breathe in this strange new world.
He raised a hand and watched it flex. There were no scars, no bruises. But the skin looked different in the light—faintly golden where the sunlight hit it, like something sacred was flickering beneath the surface.
He touched the mirror. It was cool.
The boy staring back looked calm, but Raj's mind felt like it was treading water in a riptide.
He turned away, grabbed the nearest towel, and scrubbed his face dry. The towel came away warm, like it had been left in the sun.
That bothered him.
But he didn't panic. Not even when his fingers left faint heat marks on the ceramic counter.
He sat on the edge of the tub and let the silence wrap around him. Not peaceful. Not frightening. Just… unfamiliar.
The quiet of a home with no voices. No footsteps. No parents calling him for dinner. Just the dull hum of electricity and the pulse of New York traffic somewhere twenty floors below.
He needed to move. Think. Act normal.
Whatever that meant now.
He made his way back to the bedroom. The clothes in the wardrobe looked expensive—nothing dramatic, just neat, ironed, adult-like. Too clean for someone who used to wear hand-me-downs two sizes too big.
He changed into jeans and a hoodie, surprised by how perfectly they fit. Then again, why wouldn't they? This was his body now. Sort of.
He grabbed the school ID lying on the desk. Raj Malhotra. Midtown High School.
The face was his. The name was his. But none of it felt like it belonged to him yet.
He opened the wallet, flipping through cards and receipts. The world confirmed itself with every small detail. Train passes. Cafeteria punch card. Notes scribbled on the back of a bus schedule.
He wasn't a stranger here.
He was expected.
That made his stomach twist.
He sat by the window for a long time, phone in hand, scrolling through the text threads of his parallel life.
P.P. — Peter Parker
MJ — Michelle Jones
Ned — just Ned
They talked like normal teenagers. Memes. Homework complaints. Late-night "Did you finish the assignment?" panic. Casual, warm, familiar.
It hurt a little to read it.
They didn't know him. Not this him.
But he'd be expected to show up tomorrow. Pretend nothing had changed. Pretend he wasn't someone from a completely different world with an unfamiliar energy thrumming in his spine like a second heartbeat.
He set the phone down.
Looked at his hands again.
No glow now. But he remembered the shimmer. The subtle warmth. The way the sun this morning had kissed his skin like it knew him.
And for a moment, Raj wanted to tell someone.
He imagined sitting across from Peter Parker in the cafeteria and saying, "Hey, weird question, but… do your bones glow in sunlight too?"
He laughed softly. Bitterly.
No one would believe him.
And worse—if they did, they might want to know why.
And he didn't have that answer yet.
That's when the fear returned—not as a wave, but a quiet drip in the back of his skull.
What if he wasn't supposed to be here?
What if this new world—this new body—was just waiting for him to break something?
He curled his fingers into fists and exhaled slowly.
Not now. Not yet.
He didn't have to figure everything out all at once.
He just had to go to school.
He found a backpack in the closet—packed and ready. He checked the contents: notebooks, half-used pencils, a water bottle with a Midtown High sticker. A textbook on American history. Everything mundane and boring and normal.
It grounded him.
He grabbed it, slung it over his shoulder.
It felt right.
He returned to the mirror before bed.
His reflection met him like a stranger.
No gold. No shimmer. Just Raj.
But he knew better now. Beneath the hoodie, behind the ordinary eyes—something was watching the world back.
He reached up and touched the mirror again, fingertips resting lightly against his own reflection.
And he said, softly,
"Tomorrow, we pretend."
He slept with the curtain cracked open, letting the moonlight touch his skin.
And in the quiet hum of the night, his body glowed faintly beneath the sheets—just for a second.
The sun wasn't up yet.
But it was coming.
And it had not forgotten him.